The Nightmare's Mistress
by sixseasonsandamovie
Summary: The time has come for Feyre to fulfill her bargain with Rhys. Will she be up for the task? A few of the nights spent with the violet-eyed High Lord of the Night Court. A small fic to hold me over until May 3rd.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

 **Before the First Night**

 _Feyre._

Her eyes shot open. She would know that voice anywhere. Raising herself gently so as not to disturb the sleeping Tam beside her, Feyre scanned the edges of the room. Nothing. Even with her Fae sight, the shadows were just shadows, and not murky pools of darkness waiting to drag her away. She was ready to dismiss her fears as a nightmare when it sounded again.

 _Tomorrow night, Feyre._ She could almost hear his lips crack into a seductive smile. _I've missed you._ The dark promise of his words sent shivers racing across her skin. She longed to snap back at him, to show him she would not be so easily intimidated, but she still hadn't worked out how to leverage their connection for two-way communication. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

With a sigh, Feyre gently lowered herself and rested her head on Tamlin's shoulder. Instinctively, his other arm came to wrap around her, pulling her tight to his side. She shouldn't be afraid, not here in the arms of the man who would rip the world asunder to keep her safe. He'd brought her back from the dead, and she was sure he would do anything in his immense power to keep her that way. Yet as she let her heavy-lidded eyes sink closed, she knew her fear came not from any external threat, but from something far more sinister.

" _Please, please," the young fairy begged. Her hands trembled, yet she gripped the ash dagger as tightly as she could, lest it fall from her grasp._

" _I'm so sorry," she sobbed as she advanced on him. "So… sorry." Her entire body was trembling. She wasn't sure if she could take another step, yet her body brought her closer and closer._

 _As she neared the frightened creature, his features began to shift. His hair was russet brown, then raven black. His eyes were violet one moment, and a deep gold-green the next. Each time she blinked, he became someone new: Lucien, Tamlin, Rhys, even Alis' nephews. Each of them pleaded with her, begged her not to kill them, even as she felt the arm holding the dagger raise of its own accord._

" _Kill him, you human filth," Amarantha's voice hissed in her ear. Feyre turned and saw Amarantha shambling towards her, looking exactly as she had after Tamlin was through with her. Even without a throat, the creature hissed again, "You've murdered so many already, Feyre. Surely you haven't lost your appetite for killing now."_

 _Without her permission, Feyre's head snapped back to the shape-shifting man. Her left hand reached out and held his neck in place with a vice grip. His violet eyes searched her, pleading for reprieve. She felt her right arm raise, poised for the kill. "I'm sorry," she breathed, as she slammed the dagger through his chest._

"Feyre, Feyre!" Tamlin was shaking her, calling her name a little louder each time. She blinked awake and nearly sobbed with relief to see the familiar walls of Tam's bedroom, and not the dark and putrid throne room.

"Tam," she whispered, and pressed her head against his chest. He ran his hands through her hair, holding her close to him.

"It's okay, you're okay," he whispered against her ear. His words chased the images from her mind, but the feeling wouldn't quite leave her. She raised her head to look in his eyes. Concern lurked there, along with a hint of anger. He delicately traced the skin along her jaw line, and said in a low voice, "You called his name again."

Feyre wasn't surprised. This had become a near nightly occurrence as the weeks back in the Spring Court had dragged on. At first, she hadn't told Tam about the nightmares. She'd wake up drenched in sweat and spend the rest of the night pacing around her room, with nothing but the growing circles under her eyes as evidence of her torment. Her luck had run out after the first week. The next night, and nearly every night after, Tamlin had woken her after he found her screaming Rhys' name. Tamlin had even moved Feyre into his rooms to comfort her while she slept, but Rhys' name continued to escape from her lips every night.

"There might still be a way-" Tamlin began, and Feyre silenced him with a look.

"Absolutely not. You finally have your powers back after _decades_. I'm not about to let the first thing you do with them be starting a war with the Night Court." She held his gaze meaningfully, cupping her palm against his cheek. "He doesn't want to hurt me. He just wants to get under your skin. Don't give him the satisfaction."

Neither of them slept for the remainder of the night, but instead faced the dawn as it broke across the lush meadows and fields. Tamlin had an early meeting with several of the High Lords as each of them tried to rebuild and fortify their respective courts. That left Feyre to wander the grounds, taking in her last day in the sun.

She traced her usual path through the gardens and spied an easel Tam had set up for her some time back. She couldn't bring herself to paint. That space inside of her that was once swimming with color and light had cracked open, and nothing was left but an empty hollow. "Is this your doing?" she whispered to her swirling tattoo, "Or is there no light to be had in the world once you've taken the light from another's eyes?"

Just as the pain threatened to fracture her once more, a voice called out, "Working on your tan before you get sickly pale on us?"

Feyre spun toward Lucien and forced a grin. "I rather found the pallid color of those in the Court Under the Mountain to be quite flattering. Maybe I'll ask Rhys if I can stay longer just to get closer to that shade." The humor in her voice was thin, and both she and Lucien exchanged a look. "Don't even start. Tam tried it again last night, and I mean it. No battles, no wars, no conflict over this. We'll find another way."

Lucien sidled closer, a thoughtful look on his scarred face. "I know you will, Feyre. That's why I came here to arm you."

Fayre perked up at that. This was the first she'd heard about sending her in with anything but her heightened Fae awareness. Her mind was already racing. "Is there a dagger, or some essence… or spell… or something that the members of the Night Court are weakened by?"

To her annoyance, Lucien actually let out a throaty chuckle. "You may be Fae now, but Rhysand has his full power at his disposal. The difference between you now is infinitely greater than when you were a human and he was but a shell of himself. There isn't a weapon in all the realms you could wield that would bridge that difference."

Feyre doubted that. Her mind flashed back to that moment in her cell when Rhys had let his walls down. She could wound him, and the two of them knew it. She scratched absentmindedly at her tattooed palm, and forced her attention back to Lucien. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. "He's actually not the one I'm worried about. It's just…. what about the other creatures of the court? He won't let them kill me, but-" An involuntary shiver ran through her as she thought of the creatures she had come to know in the Fae realm that could give fates worse than death.

Feyre startled as Lucien's arm gripped her shoulder. She hadn't even realized she was shaking until she felt him hold her still. He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, but said nothing. "Don't tell Tam," she whispered. Lucien scoffed, but Feyre rested her hand on top of his. "Truly, Lucien. He would never let me out of his sight if he knew." She couldn't stop the tear that spilled from her eyes. "I've already caused enough suffering. I will not be responsible for any more pain that could be caused by going back on this bargain." She may be frightened, but she was also resolute.

He considered her for a moment, then nodded. "I see the spirit of the huntress never dies. Come, let us stock your arsenal."

Rather than taking her to the armory, Lucien brought Feyre to the library. In response to her puzzled expression, he gestured to her tattoo. "You've seen firsthand how things are handled in the Night Court. They deal in words, not weapons." Lucien was right. Feyre massaged her am as she followed behind him. Rhys had never brandished a weapon toward her, but he himself was a weapon, and the mind was his battlefield.

Over the next several hours, Lucien showed Feyre pictures and read her excerpts from histories of the Night Court, adding anecdotal evidence whenever possible. Much like the Spring Court, it seemed, she should be in no immediate danger in Rhys' residence. Exploring the outer reaches unaccompanied, however, would throw her in the path of many a foe she had no desire to face. "And remember," Lucien told her for nearly the hundredth time, "trust no one. Not his servants, not his subjects, and least of all Rhysand himself. There are many who would not look fondly on a human becoming a Fae, let alone one who-"

"Who has murdered so many of their own?" Feyre finished for him.

Lucien gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I was going to say one who has not one, but two High Lords wrapped around her finger." She threw a book at him to wipe the smirk off his face.

All too soon, the sun fled through the sky overhead and dusk began to settle over the eternal Spring landscape. Feyre was with Lucien and Tamlin in the dining room, pretending to pick at the food on her plate. She glanced at Tam's place setting. Lucien had at least pretended to take a few bites, but Tamlin had made no such effort. With a sigh, Feyre set her fork down and rested her hand over Tamlin's. Too late, she realized it was her left hand bearing the mark of Rhys' tattoos. Her High Lord was staring at the pattern, so she gave him a squeeze to bring his eyes to hers. "It will be all right. I promise. I will return to you in seven days, unharmed." She tried a smile, but knew it could not have reached her eyes.

"That may be, but what about the seven after that? And the seven after that?" He dropped Feyre's hand as he could no longer stop the claws from bursting through his skin. "When you made this deal, you were human and had no reason to think your life would ever be otherwise. But now…" he growled as his claws flexed again. "Now you are a Fae and his bargain extends indefinitely through the centuries."

Feyre sent a pleading look toward Lucien, but neither his good eye or his golden one would look at her. "Then I will find a way to change the bargain. Or make a new one." A roar from Tamlin silenced her.

"You will do no such thing, Fayre. Whether he served her willingly or not, Rhysand is as much a trickster as Amarantha. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants." The flash of his eyes told her he knew exactly what Rhys wanted from her. Tamlin pushed himself forcefully from his chair. "Lucien, watch over her. Ensure she gets through the gate safely. I can't stomach the sight."

"Tamlin, you can't be serious!" Lucien called after him.

An image flashed through Feyre's mind of her in the throne room during the final task. Though now, it was she who was kneeling and Tamlin wielding the knife. And when he stabbed her, she bled. It did not stop.

Whether it was minutes or hours later, Feyre could not say. Lucien was back after fruitlessly chasing after Tamlin. He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, worked into a frenzy and muttering to himself. Feyre merely sat curled in an armchair hugging her knees to her chest and doing her best to keep her mind blank. If she let herself think of the wound Tamlin had opened within her, she would shatter into a million pieces. Just as she watched the last rays of the sun dip below the horizon, she felt a gentle tug at her core.

 _It is time._

As though moving of its own volition, her body rose from the chair with a grace that was not her own. She began striding from the room and was several paces ahead before Lucien noticed her movements and hurried to catch up with her. The thread leading her toward darkness pulled tighter with each step until she saw an orb of shadow just below the front steps of the manor. The orb spread out until it resembled a full-length mirror, only instead of reflecting light back, it seemed to absorb light from its surroundings. When she found she could control her movements again, Feyre turned to Lucien and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Tell Tam," she started, but faltered as she could not think of words that would make this right.

Lucien understood anyway, and held her at arm's length so he could meet her eyes directly. "I'll see you in seven days."

Somehow the confidence and calm in his voice was enough to help Feyre move her feet forward. With a quick glance back at the manor, she gave Lucien a short nod and stepped forward to let darkness consume her.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the start! I'm planning this to be a short fic focusing on just a few key nights that Feyre and Rhys spend together. If you're like me, and need something to hold you over for just a few more weeks, I'm hoping this will do the trick.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

 **The First Night**

When she stepped through the barrier, she felt him. She'd grown used to the gradual feel of his consciousness reaching to her through their link, but now that she was here, she could feel him in full force. His presence radiated through everything as though he was made of the Night Court and it was made of him. After letting her senses adjust to this shift, Feyre began to take in the room around her. It was small, but lavish, decorated from floor to ceiling in shimmering blacks and swirling purples. A gleaming tub of black marble sat in one corner of the room, and a small dressing table was placed in another.

They appeared just as Feyre realized the purpose of depositing her here. Rhys' handmaidens came to her just as before, moving toward her and removing her clothes without saying a word. Feyre tried wriggling out of their grip as they moved her to the bath, but her Fae strength did little against them. They were older and stronger while she was but a child still learning how to move in her own skin. Resigned to their strength, Feyre gave in and allowed herself to be dragged into the tub and scrubbed. _Please no paint tonight,_ she silently pleaded.

 _Are you sure? It did look quite delicious on you._

Her intake of breath was sharp enough to startle the servants. "It- it's nothing," Feyre muttered as they got back to work. _You can hear me?_ He'd read her thoughts before, but never quite like this. Never so completely that it seemed he'd been in her head all along, a piece of the darkness within her that had been building since her trials.

Rhys' chuckle crawled along the curves of her flesh beneath the water. The sensuousness of it seemed as though he was here in the room, drinking in her naked form. The sound of it alone made her cheeks flush. She scanned the small room again. He was not here, she would have felt it if he was. _How?_

 _You'll understand soon enough._ Though she could not explain how, Feyre felt the channel of communication between them had been closed off.

Mercifully, Feyre was both spared the paint and given a gown bearing little resemblance to the gossamer ones Rhys was so fond of. This dress was black as midnight, made of a satin so silky it seemed to be cut from the night sky. It hung just off her shoulders with a neckline plunged low enough to put her womanly curves on display. The skirt reached the floor, but contained a slit on the right side that exposed nearly her entire leg each time she took a step. When the handmaidens were done styling her hair in loose waves that cascaded down her back, they turned her toward the mirror. Feyre tried to stifle the wave of shock she felt at her appearance. The bony and angular girl stalking rabbits in the woods was truly gone for good. In her place was a woman who was both sensuous and mysterious. She looked as though she was born from night and tempered by darkness, a nightmare's mistress.

After a few final touches, the handmaidens took off with her in their usual style - cutting through doors and walls as if they were shafts of light and not solid structures made of stone and marble. Feyre never got used to the sensation, but tried to focus on tracing the path they had come, realizing even as she did so that her actions were futile. At last the servants stopped before a set of glass doors in a wrought iron frame. The glass was opaque, and Feyre was left wondering what could await her on the other side as the women turned and disappeared into shadow. After a few steadying breaths, Feyre forced her chin up, squared her shoulders, and prayed to the forgotten gods that her heart would slow down before Rhys could hear it thundering in her chest.

The doors opened to a large balcony several stories up with a wide view of the lands of the Night Court. Curiosity propelled her forward to drink in the sight. The land here was different than any part of Prythian she had seen before. Directly in front of her were rolling fields of a deep purple hue cut by streams that flowed an inky black. Further out was a dark wood, teeming with magic. The terror and wonder of what might lurk within sent a shiver down her spine. Toward the edges of the horizon were sharp mountain ranges that reached toward the stars, each dappled in small orbs that seemed to glow like the heavens themselves.

She felt the sharp tug of his presence at her core before she heard his voice. "If you think this is breathtaking, you should see it from the skies. That's how this land was truly meant to be enjoyed." Feyre tensed as he stepped directly behind her, placing his arms on either side of hers on the edge of the balcony. His lips lowered to her ear and his breath danced across her skin like tendrils of night. "This color suits you."

The wise thing would be to stay silent, but Feyre found she was never able to do the wise thing where Rhys was concerned. "You're right. It looks great on me, but just makes you look sallow." She whirled on him, not caring that his face was so close to hers, dying to show him his proximity had no effect. But as she drank him in, she knew her taunt couldn't have been more off-base. Free from the underground chambers and left to his own devices Rhys was a new being. His skin was already beginning to tan, his muscles taut as though put to frequent use, and his eyes that had once borne unending shadows were a shade of violet Feyre had never before known existed. She was entranced by a light in them she had never seen there before.

The feline smile he gave her sent waves of heat through her chest. "You were saying?"

Feyre took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of herself. "What do you want?" She had intended to lace her words with venom, but the poison died on her tongue.

Rhys smirked again and raked his violet eyes slowly over her form. Feyre fought to steady herself, unwilling to give Rhys the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. "I want you to join me for dinner." Feyre was preparing a sharp rebuttal when he stepped back to reveal a small table dappled in candlelight with steaming plates of food awaiting them. For once this was an actual offer and not a taunt. "Disappointed?" Rhys asked with a wink that revealed his too-intimate knowledge of the inner workings of her mind. Without another word, Feyre marched to the table and took a seat.

Rhys seated himself and picked up a bottle off the table. "Wine?" he asked with a dark look.

Feyre shot daggers at him with her eyes. "No."

He chuckled again and filled her glass anyway. "You'll find that the wine preferred by the Night Court has decidedly different effects than the other wines you have tried." Curiosity bubbled in Feyre's mind, but caution won out in the end. "Suit yourself." Rhysand shrugged and took a long swig from his glass. He started in on his food, but noticed Feyre remaining still. "Not going to eat your dinner?"

"Not until we set the terms of this arrangement."

A light danced in his eyes that mimicked the fire in her own. "The terms are: you will do as I wish for seven days and seven nights each month, then you will be returned to the Spring Court. Now eat."

She had barely felt the force of his will, but her hand was already bringing a forkful of steaming meat to her lips. Rhysand with all of his power was a force to be reckoned with. He could control her every move without even the slightest bit of effort. The thought only stoked the fire growing in her. "I have conditions," she said as her hand involuntarily reached toward her plate again.

Rhys arched an eyebrow at that. "Oh?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"First, I will not be forced to serve in your bed."

He took another long sip from his cup and gave her the full force of his lover's smile. "Oh, I assure you, force will not be necessary."

Feyre felt her cheeks flush, but continued. "I will not be made to harm, torture, or kill anyone in any way by my own hand or by events that I set in motion."

He chuckled lightly. "Learning to be more precise with your words, I see." Despite his teasing tone, Feyre noticed a mild respect in his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Yes. If I follow through with my duties, you will not only refrain from harming, but will actively protect Tamlin and all members of the Spring Court."

Rhys downed the rest of his glass, then leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. He studied her carefully for a few moments. "There are few in this world who would be foolish enough to make demands of a High Lord without a bit of leverage. And while already in his captivity, no less." His eyes raked over her again. "Though if you are offering your body to me as payment for these conditions, I happily accept."

Feyre growled as her mouth was forced to accept another bite of food. Her eyes burned furiously.

"A shame." Rhys leaned back, looking carefree but clearly enjoying the control he had over her. "But since you inspire generosity in me, Feyre, I will offer you conditions of my own in exchange. Feyre thought again about reaching for the wine to steady her nerves, but held back. "First, you will share my bed each night." A string of insults were building on Feyre's tongue when Rhys flicked a finger and she found she was unable to open her mouth. "You will sleep beside me, but I will force nothing of you." That calmed her a bit, but she still did not like where this was headed. "Second, you will be trained in the skills necessary for survival at the Night Court: reading, writing, magic, and dancing." The reading and writing she would be grateful for, the magic sounded exhilarating, but the dancing she could do without. "And finally, you will not speak or even think of Tamlin while you are here." That condition sounded suspicious, as though there would be some hidden consequence that she could not foresee. Feyre thought back to the dining room with Tamlin earlier. Hadn't he warned her about making bargains with Rhys? And now that was the first thing she was doing. Yet the thought of her here had sent Tamlin into such a rage that he could not even see her off. Perhaps it would be best to keep these two lives completely separate.

Feyre held Rhys' gaze. "If I agree to your conditions, does that mean that you will agree to mine as well?" She couldn't risk giving in to him only to have his interests served and hers ignored.

"It does." He extended a hand toward her. "Are we agreed?"

Feyre extended her tattooed hand to his, laying her fingers gently on his palm. "Yes." With his eyes locked on hers, Rhys moved his grip to her wrist and brought the palm of her hand to his mouth. His lips pressed against her skin in a soft, deep motion that sent a bolt of lightning up her arm. When he pulled away, Feyre watched her tattoo swirl and shift, the tendrils of ink creeping just a bit higher on her arm.

After dinner, Rhys gave Feyre a tour of the parts of his manor she would need to know, never once removing his hand from her waist. It was all a little dizzying, but she kept track of their movements and began to form a map in her head. There was no telling when - or what - she might need to flee. At last, he stopped in front of a set of giant wooden doors with no discernible handle. She shot Rhys a puzzled look, but he merely moved the two of them closer and took her tattooed hand in his. He pressed the palm of her hand flat against the wood of the door. Feyre smelled that familiar tang of magic as the doors opened inward and quickly closed behind them.

"These are my quarters," Rhysand explained as he strolled toward the bed and sat Feyre next to him on its edge. "Explore them at your leisure, but know this." He tilted her chin towards him until their eyes met. "You are safe here. The walls are imbued with ash. No Fae can get through them. The only way to open them is with the touch of your hand or mine."

Her breath hitched as she caught the expression in Rhys' eyes. Try as she might to find it, no condescension or cruelty lurked there, nor were his eyes mired in shadows of despair. Had Feyre not known better, she might have called his look hopeful. What could he even be hopeful about? Feyre sprung off the bed and out of his reach. This was all too much. "So am I to be your captive, locked in here each night?" She had to keep her guard up. Someone had warned her about that. Had it been Lucien?

Without missing a beat, the sultry expression he usually wore descended on Rhys' features as he cracked a sly grin. "There are some who would thank a High Lord for working such magic to protect them. Do you think it wise to insult me in my own home? Perhaps I could find lodging for you elsewhere and invite some of the Court's more prickly inhabitants to be your bedfellow?"

Feyre hissed at the thought. "And you should know it isn't wise to threaten someone who is under the protection of-" she faltered. Why couldn't she name her protector? All that she could grasp were flashes of green-gold. It was as though her mind was moving through quicksand; the harder she tried to grab hold of the thoughts eluding her, the quicker she sank into a void. Rhys looked amused at her struggle, which only infuriated her more. "The protection of… the Spring Court," she offered at last. There was some missing piece here that she couldn't put her finger on. "What the hell did you do to me?" Feyre growled.

To her chagrin, Rhys' spiteful smile only deepened. "Nothing you haven't agreed to."

That must be it, the conditions they'd set! Feyre ran them over in her head again quickly. They all seemed rather straightforward until she thought of the final thing Rhys had asked of her. "You made me forget someone," she said slowly. "Someone important, judging by the twisted pleasure you're taking in all of this." She willed herself to remember, to spit the name in his face like liquid from a boiling cauldron. Feyre closed her eyes and searched within herself for any remaining shard of the person lost from her memory. "Someone I love," she said at last. When she opened her eyes, his smirk was gone. His eyes gave nothing away, but jealousy radiated from him so strongly, it was almost tangible. Feyre flinched as it passed through her. "Why do I feel you so much more here? It's bad enough having you in my head, I don't want to be in yours, too."

"Don't you?" He stalked toward her, his stare rooting her in place. "Don't you want to know exactly what game I'm playing at with our bargain? What I've dreamed of doing to you here?" He ran a hand through her hair, his fingers dusting over the skin of her cheek. "Just reach into our bond, Feyre. It's all there for the taking." Her heart was racing, but she couldn't pull away. Any information would be valuable, especially if it would prevent him from always playing his game six steps ahead of her. With the tiniest of nods, Feyre closed her eyes.

She focused on the feeling of their connection, allowing it to fill her. She became aware of his heartbeat as though it was her own, felt his pleasure at watching her. No sooner did she become aware of his consciousness, than an image overtook her.

 _Feyre stood on the balcony, dress as black as the night and skin as pale as the stars. He stalked closer to her as she turned to face him. "I've been waiting," Feyre said, the words dripping from her mouth like slow spoonfuls of honey._

" _I'm here now," was his whispered reply as he slid his hand up the curve of her neck to graze the skin of her jaw. He brushed his thumb over her full lips and growled low in his throat when she gave it a small nip. Unable to wait a second longer, he brought his mouth to hers, lips crashing against each other as he plied her mouth open wider with his tongue. Fire coursed through the both of them as their kisses became more frenzied, more desperate. His hands dropped to the neck of her gown, tearing it apart to better feel the heat from her skin. Feyre moaned into his mouth as he ran his hands roughly over her exposed flesh._

Feyre gasped as she snapped back to her own mind. Her skin was still hot from where Rhys had touched her, except he hadn't actually touched her at all. It took a few moments for her breathing to slow and the blush to fade from her skin. "How?"

"You made contact with my consciousness," he said simply. "That particular thought happened to be one I had earlier this evening." He looked as though he would devour her in an instant. His expression softened a bit as Feyre suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion tear through her.

"Are you making me sleep?" she mumbled as she collapsed against his frame. Her muscles were so drained that she could no longer support herself.

Rhys chuckled softly against her ear as he scooped her into his arms. "That's the effect of magic on an inexperienced user. You'll grow stronger over time." He grazed his lips gently on her forehead and whispered, "You always do." Feyre barely even registered the feeling of the bed as her body sank into the tug of sleep. The last thing she registered before losing herself completely was a voice that came from within her as much as it came from without. _Sweet dreams._

* * *

A/N: Wow, thank you for the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. I aspire to write as well as Maas, but that's still a distant dream. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I'm planning on focusing on just the most critical moments between these two, so expect some time jumps between the events of the next several chapters. As always, I hope you enjoyed this as well, and would love to know what you think. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

 **The Night She Fell Apart**

Feyre slumped against the hard stone wall, at last releasing the glamour she had cast over herself to look like a stone pillar. Sweat shone on her brow and she ached to her very bones, but she felt pride in her accomplishment. She was getting better at this. "Enough," called Luxor, the Fae appointed to tutor her in magic. He was a silver-haired man who let nothing escape the notice of his sapphire eyes. He was tight-lipped with his praise, but Feyre noticed a sparkle of approval in his gaze as she pushed herself to stand once more. "That will be all. Tomorrow we will start battle magic." He turned and vanished in a flicker of shadow, but Feyre was rooted in place.

Her heart thudded in her ears. Battle magic? Absolutely not. The thought of it made her stomach turn and brought out flashes of memory she had kept locked tight for so long. Her time in the Night Court was blissfully free from thoughts of the past. Between her daily lessons and the mind-numbing exhaustion from her magic training, Feyre had spent each of her six weeks here following commands and dropping into a dreamless sleep at the end of each day. But now with a single sentence, Feyre felt the the fractured pieces of herself separating, as though the darkness she had kept hidden was now unleashed throughout her body. Panic started to rise in her as the pain threatened to swallow her whole. She ran for Rhys' chambers, desperate to escape this sudden wave of grief.

She hadn't dared reach for their link since her first night here, but she found herself grasping for it in her panic. _Rhys!_ The single note of his name rang through her as a desperate plea for help. Feyre tumbled through the doors of his chamber and landed in a heap on the floor, tears already pricking at her eyes. She knew that if she let the darkness swallow her now, there would be no turning back.

Feyre felt the touch of a steady hand on her back. Her heart began to slow and her body stilled as she felt the waves of calm emanating from their connection. Rhys was trying to soothe her, but it wasn't enough. "I can't," she whispered. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, to let him see her weakness. Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to put words to her inner torment.

 _Lost your will to fight, have you?_ She felt his disappointment in her bones. He brought his lips against the tender skin of her neck. "A pity," he whispered. "I had so many plans for you." He trailed a finger through her hair, pulling it back to expose her face. She couldn't look at him, but stayed rooted to the spot. "If you are truly giving in, I'm sure you'll have no objections." Both of his hands danced along her collarbone, inching closer to the dark promises of his voice. Feyre could barely breathe. Her chest had been heaving in her panic, but every motion seemed to draw Rhys' fingers lower and lower. "Or are you so still, dear Feyre, because you are filled with curiosity?" His fingers brushed along the tops of her breasts, a ghost of sensation against her skin. Feyre's heart pounded out a thunderous rhythm. She could feel his smile against her skin as he brought his whole body closer to hers. "Your thoughts are so delicious," he purred. "Well, since you've wondered…" He pressed his lips against the skin at the hollow of her neck, nipping the flesh lightly between his teeth, then soothing the spot with a flick of his tongue.

The entirety of Feyre's existence was reduced to the feeling of Rhys' lips upon her. She was at once hot and cold, and lightning bolts shot through her body whenever his teeth grazed her flesh. She tried to tell him to stop, but all that came out was a breathy sigh.

"Which of your other curiosities should I indulge, hmm?" She felt his presence across her mind as he released a dark chuckle. Suddenly his lips were back against her neck as his hands dove beneath her tunic, nearly tearing the fabric apart. His hands roamed across her breasts, at once devouring her flesh and savoring the sensation. Feyre cried out, but could not say if it was from shock, or from something far darker that had been growing within her. For the briefest instant, Feyre felt a hunger inside of herself that would not be satiated until Rhys' body was intertwined with hers. Rhys must have felt her craving, too, because he watched her with hooded eyes as she jumped back in surprise and disentangled herself from him. Her head was swimming, and a deep crimson blush colored nearly all of her skin. Rhys' eyes continued to rake over her, lingering over the skin exposed by his parting of her tunic. Turning an impossibly deeper shade of red, Feyre stood and marched to the balcony. She was careful not to reveal her haste in adjusting her clothing until she was through the door and away from Rhys' burning gaze.

Moonlight spilled over the dark marble and stone of Rhys' estate, coloring the grounds a shade of lavender that was merely a shadow of his vibrant violet eyes. His footsteps sounded on the marble behind her. Feyre whirled on him with venom in her eyes. "Can't you give me some space? I just need a moment to gather my thoughts, and that is no easy task when you…" she fumbled for words as Rhys stalked closer.

"Leave you gasping and breathless?" His self-assured smirk sent a fresh surge of fire through her blood.

"More like when you throw yourself at me. Quite desperately, I might add." Rhys chuckled at that, but moved closer still. Feyre huffed a sigh. He was doing it again, getting so close within her personal space that she had no choice but to be consumed by his presence.

"What do you hope to accomplish by clearing your mind?" He asked as he brushed a strand of hair off of Feyre's temple. She remained unflinching, her posture a challenge to his arrogance. "Are you hoping to leave space for the nightmares to return? Or are you holding out for the all-consuming fear that wracks your bones when you so much as consider the possibility of being forced to kill again?"

Feyre schooled her features into a look of cool rage, hoping to conceal the utter humiliation she felt. She had been so careful to keep those thoughts from surfacing around Rhys, but it made no difference. She could hide nothing from him, no matter how hard she tried. "Do you enjoy this? Watching me struggle to face each day while secretly laughing at what a fool I am?"

His gaze hardened, but his voice was gentle. "I enjoy your fighting spirit, and it would be a shame to see it extinguished now. If Amarantha could not break you, I doubt any tasks Luxor may design could truly tear you apart."

She wanted to stare him down, wanted to snap at him for so acutely naming her weakness. She was surprised to hear her voice come out soft. "It shouldn't, but… Don't you ever just want to run away from it all? To escape to somewhere you can be free, without the weight of the past behind you?"

He considered her for a moment as though best deciding how to admonish her, but at the last second, something in his gaze shifted. "That can be arranged."

"What?" Feyre stared at him incredulously, sure that he was taunting her. Yet to her surprise, Rhys took a step back and Feyre watched in awe as his broad wings expanded behind him. He extended a hand to her, and Feyre took it without a moment's hesitation. Rhys held her tight to his chest, wrapping one arm under her shoulders and the other beneath her knees.

Flying was a sensation unlike anything Feyre had ever experienced. She whooped and hollered as Rhys spiraled them through the night sky, and laughed deeply as she heard him do the same. She had never felt so free in her entire life, and instantly saw why Rhys would keep this passion to himself. If anyone knew they could use this to hurt him, he would never be able to bound through the sky like this or taste the night air ripe with starlight. Feyre held him even tighter and begged for him to take them higher until the land beneath them was nothing but dots and smudges against the canvas of the world.

When Rhys finally perched them both atop one of the jagged mountains bordering his land, Feyre let out a sigh of disappointment. "Just a few more minutes," she begged, not caring if she sounded like a petulant child.

He laughed and shook his head. "Come, I've something to show you." He grabbed Feyre's hand and dragged her toward a ridge overlooking the entirety of the Night Court. She giggled, hardly believing she could feel this giddy. She had never seen Rhys like this, hadn't known such a carefree side to him even existed. Just as she was about to ask what he wanted to show her, she stopped short as her breath caught in her throat.

The mountainside below them was covered in small, glowing orbs that looked as though they were plucked straight from the heavens. They glowed in a river of light down the side of this mountain and several others in the near distance. Far below, Feyre could make out the lights from Rhys' manor and several smaller homes throughout the rolling hills behind. This was something out of a masterful work of art, and for a moment, Feyre felt the colors stirring within her, aching to render this scene on canvas. "Thank you," she whispered. For once, Feyre was glad Rhys could read her so intimately. There was so much she wished to express that she could not put in words.

"No one else has ever seen this place." Feyre turned and saw him staring at her intently. "This is my own private sanctuary, the one place where…" She didn't need him to finish. She understood. She took a step closer to him, searching his gaze. For once, she could read him as easily as he could read her. The walls he had so carefully constructed around himself were down, an invitation to search for the answers she wanted. But instead of investigating whatever he might be scheming, Feyre found herself prodding a hollow she felt within his presence. It so closely mirrored her own that Feyre couldn't help a sharp intake of breath. She caught flashes of the things that had broken him: harsh words and sharp punishments from his father, war between the courts that had killed the few he had called friends, a hollow laugh that Feyre recognized only too clearly as belonging to Amarantha as she called him to her bed. Yet as she dove deeper into that void, she was surprised to find not pools of blackness, but hope. Images of the Night Court prospering under Rhys, Feyre awakening from the dead as a Fae, Feyre smiling at him as she stepped through the portal that brought her to the Night Court, Feyre as a powerful warrior defending the land at his side

Feyre took a steadying breath as she returned to her own thoughts. She had sensed Rhys had thought about her this way, even back at the Court Under the Mountain, but seeing it so clearly was something else entirely. "Hope has always been your greatest weapon. Wield it against your fears." Feyre felt Rhys pulling forth her memories and allowed them to wash over her: A younger Feyre painting flowers over the dull gray boards of her family's tiny house, wishing it could feel like home; Feyre stalking prey in the woods, missing her shot twelve times until she finally landed a rabbit that would fill their bellies that night; Feyre understanding she was the key to breaking a terrible Fae curse and running back to Prythian to save as many lives as possible; Feyre facing down Amarantha, refusing to be broken by her cruelty.

Rhys' words brought Feyre back to the present. "Whatever you choose to hope for now is up to you, but make it count. Make it a hope so bright you can hone it into a blade of light to vanquish your shadows."

Feyre could only nod. Rhys was always the last thread holding her together. His demands of her here had been keeping her together all this time. As she studied his face, she knew this moment was fleeting. Rhys had let his guard down so completely only to save her from the brink of despair, and he would not need to do that again. She would find the hope within herself. She was certain of it, just as she was certain that his walls would reemerge as soon as they left this place. Rhys could not afford to be vulnerable and open in his cutthroat court. And so, before she could stop herself, Feyre closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his. The spark that shot through her at their contact ignited something deep within her. She didn't fully understand it yet, but she knew that it was a flame that could not be extinguished.

* * *

A/N: And that's a wrap! Well, aside from a juicy little epilogue coming your way ;) Anyhow, this story went a little differently than planned, but touched on the aspects of their relationship I'm most interested in. I had definitely intended this story to be a bit longer when I started it, but I'll leave it to Maas to answer our burning questions like how Tamlin is handling Feyre's absences, if the various Courts will engage in all-out war with the king, or where exactly Feyre will spend Calanmai this year. ;)

I hope you've enjoyed the story half as much as I have enjoyed your feedback and encouragement. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Epilogue:

 **The Night of the Ball**

Feyre was fuming. "Is the word 'no' missing from your vocabulary?"

"Now, now, Feyre. Don't fuss." The wicked gleam in his eyes only spurred her on. He liked seeing her all riled up, and it infuriated her.

"I am absolutely not going." She crossed her arms and sat on the bed with a great huff as though that would end the conversation.

His presence snaked along the edges of her mind, winding it's way through her darkest recesses. _I can make you go. I can even make you_ want _to go._

Feyre's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare," she hissed. She knew all too well that he would dare, would do far worse if he felt so inclined. This was her last chance to go of her own free will. Rhys cracked a lover's smirk as he watched defeat settle on her features. "Fine." He turned to leave as she grumbled lowly, "But I get to pick the dress."

Some time later, Feyre sat and watched in the mirror as Rhys' servants readied her hair and face. She fiddled with the edge of the gown, a flowing white number with gold stitching along the bodice. The sleeves hung off the edges of her shoulders and trailed nearly to the floor. It had been the clear choice since practically every other gown she was offered bore an unfortunate resemblance to the gossamer wisps she had vowed never to wear again. The other virtue of the gown was that it was as far from Rhys' usual black and silver ensembles as she could manage. She hoped he would be annoyed by this small act of rebellion.

"It actually looks ravishing," Rhys said as he entered the room. His words had a way of wrapping around her like the tendrils of night left in his wake. With a wave, he dismissed the servants from the room and strode closer to Feyre. "You can stop glaring at me. I've only come to deliver a gift." She eyed him cautiously as a golden choker appeared in his hands. The bands of metal were thin and gleaming with an internal light where they connected in a pattern reminiscent of a crown. She had to admit that it was beautiful, but she still scoffed internally as she looked for the chains and manacles that surely accompanied this slave collar. "This is actually a piece last worn by the Lady of the Night Court. It bears no enchantments, but there will be no doubt who you are with when the members of my Court see this around your neck." Though her heart raced onward, her body stilled as Rhys clasped the object at the nape of her neck and brushed his lips softly over her shoulder, his eyes locked on hers the whole time. "Ready?" he asked with a seductive smirk.

So now she was here, skulking at the edges of the Night Court's grand ballroom. The hall was constructed of black marble with flecks of onyx throughout, lit by softly glowing torches, and edged by columns that raced upward until they mingled with the darkness of the night sky overhead. Feyre found herself studying the architecture, trying to determine what sort of magic had made this possible. She didn't care much about the answer, but at least it was better than looking around at the people.

After her grand entrance with Rhys, all eyes had been on her. This was the first time she had been formally introduced to most of the court, though many of them had seen her pace through Amarantha's trials. Their gazes ranged from undisguised loathing of the former human to unbridled lust at the prospect of a new conquest. Rhys had wrapped his arm tighter around her waist then, bringing his mouth against her ear and dusting his lips across her cheek in a display meant to show all present exactly who she belonged to. It was no surprise afterward that Feyre found herself in a bubble of personal space. No one would come near enough to speak to her, but she felt their eyes on her all the same. Now that Rhys had slipped away to speak with some courtier or other, she was by herself and the weight of the eyes on her was heavier than ever.

Just then, Feyre spied the table laden with wine. An idea struck her. She sauntered toward it with her head held high. _Let them think what they want, because I'm certainly not going to care._ She filled a goblet and hastily gulped it down, waiting for the oblivion to wash over her and for all of this to be someone else's problem. Only, the oblivion didn't come. Instead, she felt a heat swirling its way through her body, softening the edges of her vision, but heightening her sensations. She became aware of the way the dress softly caressed her skin with every movement, the way the choker was hard against the column of her throat, the way her breasts rose and fell with every breath. A not unpleasant tingling sensation moved down her spine, dipping lower and lower within her body.

She gasped as a pair of hands snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against a hard column of muscle. His lips were against her temple, but he spoke from within. _Didn't I tell you the wine here had unique effects?_ Feyre felt a twinge of embarrassment. Of course she should have remembered that. She could feel his chuckle reverberate through her. _Are you feeling… heated, yet?_ Feyre controlled her breathing, refusing to let him taunt her again.

"Just fine, actually," she hissed through gritted teeth. "In fact, I think I'll have another." She twisted out of Rhys' grip and refilled her goblet. She turned to him and raised her glass, making a show of guzzling every last drop of its contents. Feyre dropped her cup heavily on the table and sauntered away from Rhys towards the throng of dancers beginning to gather.

For the first time tonight, Feyre became intimately aware of the music. There was a beat heavy with drums, pulsating through the crowd, through her. It was as though the music moved through her veins and sent her body on a slow, deliberate rhythm. She could already feel her hips swaying to the beat just as the other dancers were doing. The rhythm increased, and the dancers became a knot of flesh, twisting and winding as their bodies pressed together. A flush heated Feyre's cheeks just from looking at them. Or perhaps that was the wine.

The heat within her had turned to a roaring blaze, each nerve ending on fire. She wanted to move her body, wanted to be touched. Singularly focused on her desires, Feyre made her way deep into the pulsating throng, gliding and winding her body against the other dancers. A Fae male grabbed her by the waist and ground his hips against hers. He drew her close, hands roaming over her shoulders, back, hips, as they moved their bodies to the inescapable rhythm. Feyre pressed herself against him, relishing in the low groan he released.

A fierce growl dispersed the dancers, and a wave of purple light sent the Fae male crashing into one of the marble columns. The room spun as Feyre was dragged from the dance floor. She stumbled to keep up with Rhys, furious that he had cut her fun short. She felt the anger rolling off him in waves and it only spurred her own frustration. "You're hurting me," she grumbled. Her complaint only seemed to make him drag her faster, made his grip harder.

Once he dragged her through the door to his chambers, he released Feyre so suddenly that she went tumbling toward the bed. He didn't give her a single second to collect herself before he started in on her. "What the hell do you think you were doing out there?"

"I was jus' dancing," Feyre argued. The words felt heavy on her tongue and she knew they had likely come out slurred, but that did nothing to dampen her righteousness. "It was a ball. You're s'pose' to dance." Rhys said nothing, but the anger in his eyes spoke volumes. Feyre continued, "I thought you liked it when I danced for you. Like it when I-" She attempted to stand then, but the world had tilted suddenly and she went careening toward the floor.

Rhys caught her in an iron grip and dragged her upright, his face only inches from hers. Feyre giggled suddenly. "Oh, you're jealous." The thought of it made her giggle again as Rhys released another growl.

He gripped Feyre's tattooed arm and held it between them, forcing Feyre to focus on the swirling design. "Do you see this? You belong to me, Feyre. I do not take kindly to others enjoying what is mine."

She had half a mind to slap him, and would have made a fruitless effort to do so had she not felt the conviction of his words. His emotion flowed from him so strongly that Feyre was overcome with fleeting images. She saw how Rhys wanted to possess her, to claim her as his and his alone, wanted her to give herself to him completely. The intimacy and power of those glimpses was enough to light the fire created by the wine once more. "You want me." Her words were both an accusation and a demand.

He shifted closer, letting her feel his arousal pressed against her. "So what if I do?"

Feyre cracked a wicked grin. Each brush of contact between them sent fireworks shooting through her. She felt the darkness that had been growing in her all this time finally breach the surface. Freed at last, the thoughts she had guarded closely for so long came flooding forward. She wanted to taste him, wanted to feel his flesh pressed against her. Wanted to be consumed by him completely.

She felt him stiffen as he read the thoughts flowing freely from her. His muscles tensed, ready to pounce. But at the last moment, he restrained himself. _You're drunk._ Feyre could feel the war of emotions within him, his desire battling with a need to protect her that he could not shake.

She placed a hand on his chest, bringing her lips ever closer to his. True, she was feeling rather emboldened by the wine, but it was not the alcohol that caused these desires. She had felt them for a long time, far too long if she was being honest with herself, and would have felt them again for him tonight regardless. Only now, she wasn't afraid to act on them. For once in her life, she was ready to put her needs first and to give in to her own desires, consequences be damned. Feyre closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his. She slid her tongue slowly into his mouth, allowing him to taste the depths of her desire. _I've wanted you, too, for far longer than I should have. I'm done waiting._

Feyre felt the last shreds of his resolve snap at her words, and suddenly he was launching himself at her. He slammed her against the wall, pinning her in place with his hips as his hands roamed across her form. Their lips connected in a duel for dominance, tongues sliding over and caressing the other. Rhys trailed hot, burning kisses down her throat and over her breasts that left Feyre gasping in small breaths. She fisted her hands in his dark hair, pulling him closer still. Each touch and motion burned through her in a searing path straight to her core. Just when she thought she might be burned alive, Rhys grabbed her and carried her swiftly to the bed.

Clothes were torn off in a blur of frenzied motion until she was bare before him. Her pulse raced as she watched Rhys shed his last bit of clothing. He stalked toward her, every step an artful display of power and control. He wanted to consume her right this second, but she could sense him fighting the urge in favor of savoring the moment, in drinking in the beauty of her exposed flesh. He brought himself nearer and nearer, the anticipation making it hard for Feyre to breathe. He stopped when he was above her, hands and knees just a hair's breadth away from her skin, his lips nearly brushing hers. Feyre let out a small cry. Feeling him go so still was torture. She needed him more with every passing second, and was already half mad from waiting.

At last, a thought from him pierced through her frantic need. _Are you sure?_ In his words, Feyre sensed his hesitation. He wanted her. Oh gods, she could feel that he wanted her - perhaps more than anything he had wanted in his entire existence - but he was willing to still the need. With the slightest hint of doubt from her, he would sheath his longing until another time.

Feyre had never been more sure of anything in her life.

With blinding speed, Feyre launched herself at his throat and sunk her teeth into the crook of his neck, just barely restraining herself from breaking the skin. She lavished the spot with her tongue, pulling him against her all the while. He responded with a deep growl, and moved to devour her whole. They were lost in a tangle of skin, of lips and hands roaming over each other's bodies, of desire so deep and so strong that Feyre half wondered if she would ever have her fill. She felt his presence, within her and without, their thoughts merging together as his teeth claimed the curve of her throat, her breasts, her thigh. She let the fire within her carry them away in a tangle of limbs and sighs until she could no longer tell where she ended and he began.

Sometime later, Feyre laid beside him, sated and eyes heavy with sleep. The last sensation she was aware of before the darkness consumed her, was a fire burning bright inside her. It had started as a spark that night with Ryhs on the mountain, and had now become a wildfire rippling through her bones. She was too exhausted to contemplate what this meant, but one final thought became clear: it could never be extinguished.

* * *

A/N: I couldn't end this story without a bit of steamy goodness. :) I usually enjoy taking things a little farther with an M rating, so we'll see what inspiration _A Court of Mist and Fury_ brings.

Thank you so much for reading this story! I felt like it was a bit rushed, but it is (to date) the only story I have managed to follow through with to the end (Yes, I'm terrible, I know.), so this is a small victory for me. There are a few things I would have done differently had I had the patience to extend this a bit, but I definitely enjoyed it overall.

Thank you for all of your feedback along the way, and I would love to hear what you think! Happy reading on May 3rd, and I hope to bring more stories from this series your way.


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